


Projections

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU after 4x04 "Indifference", Allusions to mental illness, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix it for Indifference, season four spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl shrugged, frank to a fault. "Today's traitors, tomorrow's heroes, man. Either way it wasn't your call. You crossed a line."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: This is a fix-it sort of fill for episode 4x04 "Indifference."
> 
> Warnings: Contains spoilers for all four seasons of the Walking Dead, strong language, probably AU after the next episode airs.

They hadn't been back for long when the car Rick and Carol had taken trundled sedately down the dirt road, kicking up a trail of dust nearly a mile long as Rick – she assumed – maneuvered around the scattered herd that had taken up residence around the prison with relative ease.

Daryl emerged from the side entrance of A block as Rick approached the gates, shading a hand over his eyes as he squinted into the afternoon glare, posture on point as Maggie and Bob hurried to open the front gates. She smiled at the eagerness she saw there, he was like the younger brother she'd never had – never  _wanted_  until she suddenly had him.

He was always like this when it came to her, to  _Carol._

He was like a little puppy dog trailing at her heels – wary but still loyal. And she  _doted_ on him. Really, it would be a load off  _everyone's_ back when they finally hooked up. There was a god damned  _betting pool_  for Christ sakes!

She shouldered the last bag of supplies Doctor S needed, closing the trunk with a slam. She was only vaguely keeping an eye on the other side of the yard as Rick pulled through the gates, narrowly avoiding a couple of walkers as Maggie and Bob pulled them closed behind him. Maggie made a disgusted sound – audible even from clear across the yard - as a severed arm, limp and mottled-grey, flopped uselessly onto the gravel at her feet.

The walker it'd come from, now sporting a ragged stump, all stringy skin and dripping red, looked less than amused.

She paused in mid-step as Rick turned, sunlight flashing off the windshield, highlighting the moment in a blinding sheen of golden yellow and off-white.

There was no one in the passenger seat.

And for a long moment, that was the only thing that registered, then –  _Daryl._ A curl of dread cooled in the pit of her stomach as she realized what that empty seat meant. Her mind reached for a reason, a scenario,  _something_  that had happened between then and now that had led to this moment, final and terrible as it was. She knew what the world was now; it was a timer counting down, a sand trap choking with all manner of nasty things, things that could get you killed - or worse.

That was the cost of living these days. The certainty of death was a near thing, _pending_ , close. The sooner everyone came to accept that, the more they'd enjoy what life they had left. At least that was how she saw it. Time ran out. It had for Andrea. For the Governor's little geek. And someday, if it hadn't already, it would come for the sick sonofabitch that'd killed them.

Daryl's steps slowed, faltering when the passenger door didn't open. She was glad she was too far away to see his face. She didn't know if she could handle that, seeing it crumple or worse, seeing nothing at all. She just couldn't.

Because this time she refused to accept it. They'd lost too much,  _too many_ , they couldn't afford to lose anyone else - especially not  _her_ , not  _Carol._ That woman was the glue that kept everyone together. She was the heart of the machine, the buttered side of the bread, the oil in the motor and every other euphemism that could be used to describe an essential thing - something you couldn't afford to lose.

The hair on the back of her nape prickled as Rick slowly unfolded himself from the front seat. She shifted in place, hand curling into a tight fist as the toe of Rick's boot scuffed in the dirt. Her katana felt like a lead weight between her shoulders, heavy and unweilding, the straps, choking. She shook her head.

Something wasn't right. It wasn't just about that empty passenger seat, but something beyond the surface. Something bad. She knew that look.

"Move," she urged, shoving Tyreese off to the side as she hurried across the yard. The man had only just turned, uncomprehending, as he squinted towards where Rick was getting out of the car. Daryl was already halfway across the lot, back ram-rod straight – working himself up so the world wouldn't know that he was wounded.  _That this hurt._  That he didn't know how he was going to handle this, how he was going to-

She could hear Tyreese, all heavy breaths and footsteps that scored through the gravel, close at her back as she hurried towards them. She could practically _smell_  a confrontation, the  _wrongness_  of it all as she closed the gap between them.

She got there when they were already in mid-conversation, coming into it long past the opener as she idled on the sidelines, listening, watching. Rick's face was a mosaic of guilt and surety, confusing and confounding all at once as every inch of Daryl, from tousled head to dirty toe, bristled.

"-Someone had to do something, to make the hard decision, the bad call," Rick insisted, posture imploring despite the fact that his hands were resting on his hips, fingers inches away from the holster of his python as Maggie and Bob, alerted by the raised voices began to saunter over.

"Yeah? Since when?" Daryl growled, "you buried your head in the dirt, Rick. You decided to play farmer. You bowed out, left us to it. So we picked up the slack. We made do. We created something here, a  _system_." Daryl's expression was hard, disbelieving, like an unruly teen being hemmed in by parents that just didn't understand – holding him back when all he wanted to do was move forward.

"If we can't trust her, if we can't trust the people around us, then-" Rick began, cut off in mid-word as Daryl barked out a laugh that was anything but friendly.

"Trust?" Daryl spat, heels grating in the dirt as he whirled in place, crossbow thumping against his back with the force of it as a muscle tightened in Rick's jaw.

"You wanna talk about trust? How do we trust you, man!? How do we trust that you won't fly off the handle!? Hell, a single punch from a man who'd just lost his missus, and you pull a  _Shane_?" Daryl retorted, stance going defensive, if only for a moment, as Rick stepped forward, mouth open – maybe to yell before Daryl ripped right through him.

"Trust? Trust is  _earned_. And Carol has earned more than her fair share, just as much as any of us, hell –  _more_ \- a long ass time ago!"

"I made a decision. I had to. Daryl, you don't-" Rick started, looking around briefly at the others as people started to mill around the yard. She looked behind her, unsurprised to see more than a few people listening from their windows.

This was going from bad to worse in less than two-point-eight seconds flat and hell if she knew of any way to stop it. Her right hand twitched, catching it in mid-motion as she automatically went for her sword.

_No, this wasn't about her. It was about them. About Carol._

This was  _their_  mess to sort out.

"Yeah? And what makes you think that decision was any less wrong or right than the one she had to make?" Daryl returned, having eyes only for Rick even as Maggie tried to come between them.

"Tell me man, what evidence do you even _have_  other than her word? Ever think it might not be that simple?" he snarled, every inch of him wounded as a gasp rose up from the crowd, as people started to realize what had happened. What  _Rick_  had done. What  _Carol_  had done.

"Did it even cross your mind that she might have been covering for someone? That Karen and David might have even  _asked_  her to do it?" Daryl hissed, free hand curling into a tight fist as the sound of rusty hinges whinged out into the silence.

"How long did you even talk to her about it before you made your decision, huh? A day? A couple of hours?"

Daryl didn't get in Rick's face like he had with Bob. No, with Rick it was pretty much the opposite. Daryl acted like Rick had the plague and it was catching. He kept back, like he didn't even trust himself to be within spitting distance. The man was practically vibrating, angry, no, _beyond_  angry, tense with an emotion he probably didn't even know how to describe let alone name as he circled the older man like he was out stalking game.

A predator stalking another predator.

But she knew. She understood.  _Once upon a time, she'd even felt it._

His shoulders were hunched inward, protective, defensive. The promise of violence was reflected back in every twitch, every inflection and gesture. Disgust rolled off his tongue as if each and every word was an iron weight as it left his lips. Disappointment and confusion were the runners-up as the younger Dixon tried to make sense of it, looking for that one shred of logic, that tiny little explanation he _must_  have missed, something that would make everything make sense.

But there wasn't one. Perhaps there never had been in the first place. Maybe that was the point.

Rick's expression was anguished, rotten,  _calm_.

"Rick, this is Carol. _Carol_. One mistake and she's off the island? You're projecting, man!" Daryl shouted, hand flinging up into the air, as accusing as any pointed finger. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek.

Tyreese looked conflicted as the idea set in, caught between anger and discomfort as the reality of what'd happened slowly permeated. There were unshed tears in Maggie's eyes and worry in Hershel's. Rick's expression rippled, smooth but tense at the same time, waiting, as they all were, for the final shoe to drop.

"Just because you don't like what you see in the mirror anymore doesn't mean you get to choose who goes and who stays, who lives and who dies. You lost that right,  _hell_ , you gave it up!" Daryl bit off, head tipped up, blunt and proud as the jut of his jaw tensed and released almost rhythmically.

"She killed Karen and David in cold blood! She told me herself!" Rick replied, finally able to get a word in edgewise as Daryl stopped for a breath, collecting himself as Hershel paused at the side entrance to A-block, probably waiting on the medicine she was still carrying on her back.

Daryl shrugged, frank to a fault. "Today's traitors, tomorrow's heroes, man. Either way it wasn't your call. You crossed a line."

Rick shook his head, frustrated, gaze straying towards the others before he took a step forward, almost imploring as he met Daryl's stare. "We need to discuss this, calmly and rationally. But not out here, not now, there are people counting on us, people that need us to-"

But whatever it was Rick wanted, he certainly didn't get it, because Daryl wasn't in the mood to play games. Not today.

"Oh, so  _now_  you want to discuss it?" he hissed, disbelieving. "When everything is said and done, when you've already played judge, jury and executioner?  _Now_ you wanna talk?!"

"I didn't kill her. _Christ_  - Daryl, she can take care of herself." Rick returned, hands on his hips as he made to turn, perhaps to get something out of the trunk or even walk away, but Daryl shadowed him.

"Alone? Hell, you know people can't get on alone out there anymore," Daryl shot back, the play of muscles sharp under his skin as his free hand flung out, gesturing towards the fence and the walkers pressed up against it.

"You're the one always making noise about keeping our morals, trying to create a little slice of civilization in the middle of all this," Daryl continued, gesturing around him, as if to encompass everything - the gardens, the prison, the people, all of it.

"Come on man, you were a cop. That's not how people do things. Or do the rules not apply to you? Huh?" Daryl accused, voice getting softer as he paused, hesitating as if the next words out of his mouth promised to be painful.

"Do you have _any_  idea what the governor will do to her if he finds her?"


	2. Chapter 2

"No one's hands are clean anymore, man. Not mine. Not yours.  _Not your son's_ ," Daryl implored, voice steady despite the fact that his expression was crumbling, gaze turning inward as anger tugged on the corners of Rick's features. It was so close to mania that no one, least of all her, could tell the difference.

"We've all done things, things we regret, things we don't. Things we thought we were doing for the greater good, for  _everyone_ , but were really doing them for ourselves," Daryl continued, kicking up a cloud of dirt as one of his heels skidded in the gravel, pacing back and forth - struggling for control.

The vice inside her chest tightened.

"And we have to make peace with that. You did, Carl did. But Carol? Carol you just left -  _abandoned_. Because that's what you do now, isn't it Rick?" Daryl growled, vehement, his tone just shy of vicious as Hershel limped up behind him, a solid presence at his back as the younger Dixon shook his head, sweat trickling down his fringe as the musty afternoon seemed to grow warmer,  _close._

"You know, a long time ago a man followed me into Atlanta for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. He had more than enough to lose and he was willing to lose it over an  _asshole_ , a stranger, someone who, if given the chance, mighta sooner ended his life than thank him for saving it. Where'd that man go, Rick?" Daryl asked, hand coming up, open palmed and gentle as he advanced, closing the gap between them with a slow, loping gait.

Rick stood his ground.

"I used to think we were better off having lost him somewhere along the way – letting him grow up some. Get harder and shit. But you know what? I was  _wrong_ ," Daryl spat, so close to the other man he could have reached out and touched him. But he didn't.

And that, in itself, was a whole different pile of just plain, god damned  _wrong_. Because in the place of friendly pats and good natured ribbing was a cold, terrible sort of indifference. There was disgust on Daryl's part, expression rife with confusion and betrayal, and a numb, self-assured sort of finality on Rick's.

She didn't like it.

"I'll tell you what, we ain't stronger  _without_ him. We're _lesser_  for it. And that shit's on  _you_ , Rick!"

"She changed, you don't know-" Rick started, blue eyes watery – watered down as he stepped forward, advancing on Daryl for a moment before he checked himself.

"That's what people do, Rick! That's what this world does. It changes you. Your boy, Shane, me, you, Carol, Hershel, Glenn, for better or worse, we're _all_  different. We're making the same mistakes that people've always done. We learn from them,  _live_  with them. What makes her mistakes any different from yours? From Carl's? Why didn't she get the chance to make 'em right?  _Huh_?" Daryl snarled, the strap of his crossbow slackening over his shoulder, sliding down his arm until he was holding it in his free hand.

To anyone else it would have been a threat.

_Hell, maybe it was._

Either way no one called him on it.

She looked up, back arching as the mossy-grey brick of the prison rose up behind her. And just like she knew she would, she caught sight of a span of freckles and shaggy brown hair peeking out of one of the windows. Carl was listening through the bars – and honestly, she had no idea how things could get any  _worse_.

"Tell me why!"

The silence was choking.

She saw the decision being made long before the younger Dixon put it to voice. It was reflected in the hollows below his eyes, caught in the frown lines and the downturn of his lips as Daryl swiped a hand through his hair. The man flicked back the strands with an angry gesture, lips pulled back in a silent growl as the decision took shape – a muted sort of rage seething just underneath his skin as he made to speak.

"Oh, to  _hell_ with you!" Daryl barked, kicking up an arc of dust as he did an about-face, showing Rick his back as he took off across the yard.

Rick followed him, close at his heels, expression worried for the first time since he'd peeled through the front gates. She could practically see the gears turning.  _This wasn't part of the plan. He hadn't anticipated this._

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get her and I'm bringing her back," Daryl snarled, brushing the man off when Rick strayed a bit too close.

The others trailed in their wake, uncertain. Looking for guidance at a time when the two people they'd so often turned to seemed ill-fit to provide it. She met Daryl's eyes through the fray, keeping pace with him from across the short distance, waiting for affirmation before the man finally nodded.

The movement was subtle; more of a jut of the chin than anything else, but it was enough. It was the kind of look that said: "be careful, take care of yourself, I'll be fine, don't worry, and I'll look out for them," all at once. The set of his lips wavered, if only for a moment, when he nodded, pushing past her as she turned, catching Rick with the flat of her palm – gentle but firm - as the man tried to follow.

She had his back. So long as Daryl knew that, she didn't have to say anything else.

"Get the gates!" Daryl hollered, not even bothering to look as Maggie and Bob hurried to get the chains, dealing with the walkers closest to the main drive as Daryl shouldered the pack he'd left beside the car, tossing in a couple of canteens as he made to leave.

"Now Daryl, don't-" Rick began, but Daryl just shook his head, flicking a sweaty cowlick out of his eyes as he swung his leg over the bike, kicking the starter as the motor thrummed to life underneath him.

"You, out of _all_  people should be able to tell the difference between a bad decision and a bad person, man. We don't just give up on people anymore. Even when they've made a mistake," Daryl replied, voice surprisingly gentle, or at least as close as she figured the man could come to it, as the motor caught and Daryl left the older man in his dust.

Rick just stood there, watching him go.

The man stood vigil long after Daryl disappeared from view. Watching as the sun dipped low in the horizon and dusk slowly fell. The evening meal came and went and more than once she wandered over to one of the windows, letting the cool, concrete chill seep into her skin, watching Rick wrestle with it.

Come nightfall, the man hadn't moved an inch.

And no one, not even Carl, came out to disturb him.


	3. Chapter 3

Daryl didn't come back that day or the next. There was no sign of him on the third day or the fourth. Not even so much as a whisper. No one was taking it well. Nothing fit anymore. The smoothness, the  _certainty_  that had been there even when everything was going to shit, was gone.

Rick hadn't said a word. Not even to Carl. Hershel had tried and failed to bring him out of it. But the man just wanted to be left alone, and, in the end, it was a bit too easy to do just that. She tried not to let it get to her, what he'd done. Just like she figured she'd do with Carol if she were in his place. They'd all made mistakes. The last thing the man needed was judgement for it.

But _damn_  if it wasn't hard taking the fucking high road.

The prison was muted,  _sullen._ People spoke in hushed voices. Their steps were slow,  _careful,_  as if aware, even unconsciously, that the foundations that had kept this place strong – _alive_  - were lacking. The medicine they'd brought back seemed to be working; they'd only lost a handful of the people who were still interned in A-block. Glenn and Sasha were still hanging on, somehow.

Honestly, it was probably the only thing that was keeping the place afloat. Like a tiny pin-prick of light in an enveloping dark, they were still here, still alive. And they clung to it fiercely, coddling it deep inside as they murmured, keeping the hope alive when they talked about Daryl – about Carol - using words like "when he comes back," not "if."

Daryl would have been proud.  _They'd come a long way._

Hell, they  _all_ had _._

She amused herself, in the few moments she actually had by her lonesome, by replaying old conversations half remembered from her winter with Andrea. Long months spent roaming old farming communities and far off strip malls, going from place to place – always one step ahead of the herds, always moving, chasing the weather, food, warmth. There had been weeks, even months at a time when it had gotten dark early and the only thing there was to do  _was_  talk.

The truth was she'd known Rick, Daryl and the others  _long_  before she'd even met them.

She knew about the quarry, about Amy, Jim and Jacqui. She knew about Dale, about his old RV and his warm smile. She knew about Jenner and the CDC. She knew about France and the hope that'd died there. She knew the taste of singed ozone. She knew what pulverized brick felt like on the tongue. She could almost feel the heat of it on her skin, see it in the back of her mind as the mushroom clouds had plumed up into the blue afternoon.

She remembered what it had felt like when Jenner had set the air on fire. She hadn't been there, but she remembered.

She knew about Ed. She knew about Sophia. She knew about Jimmy and Patricia, about the farm and the highway. Andrea had told her everything. She'd told her about Shane and Lori, about Daryl – how he'd saved them, how he'd gone out looking for Carol's little girl day after day. She knew how Daryl had stepped up and how Shane had stepped back. She knew about the struggle, the pressure Rick had been under from day one, trying to make sense of this new world and his place in it.

And as the days had trickled past, she tried to remind herself that  _this_  was what Daryl thrived at, hunting –  _tracking_. And that if  _anyone_  was going to make it out of this, it would be  _him_. He'd carry her home on his god damned back if he had to. He wouldn't come home without her.

So, Carol  _had_ to be alive. There was just no other option. Not for Daryl at least.

The night of the fifth day found her walking the perimeter fence, dealing with the occasional walker scrabbling through the chinks as she counted down the hours, waiting for Tyreese and Bob to relieve her on watch.  _God, she was tired._

Her breath fountained out in front of her, spreading out in a fine, smoky-white mist as she breathed out through her nose. Sleep had always been at a premium. But now, with Daryl and Carol gone and Rick – for all intents and purposes – out of commission, she'd been averaging only a handful of hours a night.

_They couldn't go on like this._

The air was clear, crisp, harboring a hint of chill as summer started coming in for the close. They weren't ready for it. They'd barely survived the last winter. There was still the harvest to bring in, stores to be replenished and here they were - half the prison was dead, dying, or somewhere in between.

_They needed to get their shit together._

The blade of her katana gleamed in the low light, reflecting the half-moon as it moved, flowing through the air like an extension of her arm as the last walker on the east side of the compound crumpled to the ground in a heap of worn fabric and putrid flesh. It might have been a woman once, in this light it was hard to tell.

The only way they were going to survive was together. They couldn't afford to be wasting time on what was already said and done. They needed Carol and in spite of what might have happened, in spite of what she might have done, she _deserved_  to be here. Considering her summer spent searching for the Governor, she was well aware it sounded hypocritical. Daryl had been right to call her out on it. It didn't change the fact that she was right, though. Nothing could.

_Reality could be a bitch that way._

She'd only just hunkered down, wiping the edge of her blade on the walker's pant leg when she smelled it. She paused, balancing on her haunches as she inhaled.  _Something was burning._

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting as she hurried towards the main gates, following her nose more sedately now as the lack of smoke and flames assuaged any fears of a more serious blaze. But when she nearly tripped over a small pile of fabric still smoldering along the far edge of the inner fence, she couldn't say she was completely surprised.

She scuffed at the shredded pile with the toe of her boot, kicking at the brown felt and charred ridges until recognition finally hit. She stilled. The gentle curves that made up the top and the fragile brim that surrounded it flaked off into embers as she watched, glowing cherry red as the wind kicked up - acrid and full.

_Carl had loved that hat._

She looked up, eyes automatically finding the kid's window, unsurprised to see the soft glow of a flashlight flickering in the dark. Something deep inside her chest softened.  _Reading in bed again._

Even so, the next morning, when Rick emerged from wherever he'd been hiding, she honestly didn't know what to think when his hands glowed red in the low light. The man's skin was blood-red, torn from where old wounds had split open from the strain. A few droplets of blood oozed free from the crusts, half-formed scabs that had tightened around the edges of the wounds overnight. They weren't even bandaged.

It was almost as if the man wasn't even aware he was wounded.

It was only then that she realized it  _hadn't_  been Carl after all.

And honestly, she didn't know if that made it better or worse.


	4. Chapter 4

It was only on the afternoon of the eighth day that they heard a motor revving in the distance. Her bowl of soup went flying as she raced Carl to the gates, one hand light on his shoulder as they pressed themselves up against the fence, squinting down the lonely dirt road as a cloud of dust rose up above the tree-line.

The entire prison was in an uproar, with news traveling fast as people crowded around the windows, jamming up against the doors as excitement and anticipation got the better of them. Rick trailed behind the crowd, ruined hands clenched tight at his sides, face expressionless –  _drawn._

"Are they back?"

"Are they safe?"

Her chest pulled tight when Daryl's motorcycle wound its way out of the tree-line.  _He was alive. Safe._ And for a long moment that was the only thing that mattered. She shaded her eyes, willing him to drive faster. He was still too far away to make out any detail. She couldn't see if-

Carl tugged on her shirt, freckled face a mess of frown lines and that stoic sort of calm he seemed to have inherited from his father. "Can you see her? Is she-"

She didn't say anything when his voice broke.

She was a realist; she knew the odds, the reality of the world they lived in. But even so, she couldn't deny that her heart plummeted, doing a sickening nose dive right into her gut as Daryl blew through the front gates, hunchbacked and alone.

_No._

Daryl looked pinched around the edges, worn, like he hadn't had a square meal in days as he pulled into the yard. He was coated in a layer of grit, speckled in red, features almost lost behind a mane of mussed-up hair and muddy smears.

She swallowed her grief, saving it for later, for when she was alone in her cell and no one could mistake it for a weakness. She sucked in a shuddering breath, forcing herself to focus, to be  _present_. She had to be strong now. Strong for  _them_. Strong for  _him_.

He didn't have to stand alone anymore.

_None of them did._

The crowd parted, letting Rick through as Daryl swung himself off the bike. The younger Dixon's movements were stiff – tired. Like every muscle in his body  _ached._

It was relief, of all things, that washed across Rick's face when he caught sight of him. The emotion was all but visceral, an almost instinctual burst of atrocity – of self-righteousness that sent nausea rising up in the back of her throat. Because it wasn't relief for Daryl - at least not in the strictest sense.  _No_ , it was relief that the man had returned  _alone._

Her nails bit into her palms as Rick nodded to himself, acting as if he were seeing the final strands of some grand plan  _finally_  pull together as Daryl took a step forward, handing his crossbow to Carl as something in the air shifted. There was rage burning in the back of his blood-shot blues as Daryl shrugged out of his pack. He let it fall, empty and slack, to the dirt at his feet as something petal-soft and stark white flashed between his fingers.

But if Rick noticed, he gave no sign.

She sucked in a breath, whether to cry out or hold it in, the same moment that something just fucking  _snapped._ Either way, Daryl acted before she could say so much as a word.

The man's filthy fist flashed, a mixture of old blood and crushed petals as Daryl suddenly lunged. He caught Rick in a vicious uppercut that sent the older man sprawling – an arc of blood spit up from the hole where his two front teeth had been as Daryl loomed over him, fist raised, breathing ragging.

_You could have heard a fucking pin drop._

Rick rolled to his side, one hand pressed tight against his mouth as a few trickles of blood started seeping between his fingers. The man looked more aware, more  _grounded_  than he had in  _days._

For a long moment they just stared at each other, listening to the low moan of the wind as it shuddered through the eaves, watching Daryl's chest rise and fall as the man glared down at him. She was almost glad she couldn't see his face.

It was Rick that finally broke it. He wiped at his mouth as he met Daryl's stare, eyes downcast,  _dull_ , as he spat out a mouthful of red, trying to speak around it as one of his teeth gleamed, a mixture of red and plaque-coated ivory, from the dirt at his feet.

"Daryl, I-"

But Daryl just turned on his heel, not even giving the man so much as a second look as he stalked towards the prison. She was about to go after him when something white flashed in his wake, flattened, yet light as whatever he'd been holding onto since he'd gotten off the bike fluttered to the ground behind him.

Her heart felt heavy, weighed down and tight in her chest as she knelt and picked it up. She cupped it delicately in her palm as nausea stirred deep in her gut, the feeling of loss – of  _longing_ – burrowed bone deep as she slowly straightened.

It was a Cherokee rose.

The flower crumbled into dust as she clenched her fist.  _Such a fragile thing._

Her steps were slow as she followed him into the prison, hesitant. She didn't know what to say. What he needed. But she was here. She paused in the door frame, eyes adjusting to the low light as the hallway reflected back at her, empty. There was no sign of him.

She was about to go search him out when somewhere in the distance, a motor revved.

There was a sound behind her, the gentle rasp of fabric on fabric as she whirled around. Daryl was leaning against the frame behind her, a smile, longer than the fuckin' Mississippi itself, stretched across his lips as somewhere behind her, sunlight glanced off a filthy windshield.

A cry rose up as the people outside caught sight of her. The yard suddenly became a hive of activity as people crushed out the doors, hurrying to open the gates as Daryl remained where he was, that same shit-eating grin lighting up his features as the man's pleasure made short work of the relative gloom.

And honestly, she couldn't help but smile back.

Carol was home.


End file.
